Doorways

                                Parents’ Fiftieth Wedding
 
Part I
As a child I answered a doorbell ring,
Opening the formal Front Door
and found a small old lady,
truly someone’s grandmother
but not one that I knew.
She had a strange request –
she “only asked” that she could
come inside and see our house.
 
It seems she lived here many years ago.
This was her family’s home,
and she grew up here, not only years ago,
she told me –  generations
Then the lawn was wide and green,
there were no trees.
 
Later she came back alone,
when grown and married.
The house seemed changed,
for all around great trees were standing,
a grove of apples, pines, and pears.
She did not ask to come inside
but only stood, and looked,
and went away. 
 
But now, she said,
our house seemed like her memories –
The trees had mostly fallen,
the lawn was large.
It looked again like her house and,
“Could she please come in,
to see the rooms of childhood?”
 
That house was sold, and painted,
landscaped, with a new garage,
I myself have not been back to see.
But we lived there for thirty years –
and I often wonder:
will I, someday, stand at the Front Door
And ring the bell, and ask? 
 
                                Part II

Imagination finds a country Back Door –
where daylilies beyond lift golden throats
against far boughs of dark green pine,
green whorls of Turk’s Caps rise beside,
almost the height of a man,
whose buds promise gay orange turbans,.
where now small pink climbing roses bloom.
 
I walk a little further.
Brown-Eyed Susans watch me pass,
and yellow Coreopsis from the meadows
nod their petalled heads.
On a little further, to a juniper patch.
with a small blueberry bush,
some berries pink, some berries blue.
I lean over to pick and catch the scents
of juniper and pine, perfumed with sun ….
And where am I  –  perhaps New Hampshire,
where passed so many happy days and years ?
 
No, this is a vision of New Hampshire,
a quilt of memories patched up
an our city row-house yard.
Still, these images exist,
darkly stitched by brick buildings
and a wire fence.
However, on a sunny day,
I take this Doorway’s patchwork pieces
and travel to a quiet time,.
during these years when my own gardens
must grow in memory.      
 
                                Part IIl

Now at this dinner, in this room together
we are meeting in another Doorway,
because this inn named Wellesley’s Woods
stands where it all began.
Fifty years ago, and yet another five
on a summer’s night –
in these Woods, by this Lake
you might see two figures walk,
And stop, and kiss.
 
All gathered here know in our lives
behind this Anniversary Door –
many years shared together.
And we all know the crossway arch covers
a family group of ourselves,
whom we are happy to love so well.
 
The farther side of this Threshold
we do not know,
as we pick up our luggage of years:
90, 80, 50, 40 ,12, 10, or 6,
anniversary gifts unbundled
from one package.
We move onward
as this Doorway opens onto different paths.
We leave. We go forward –
remembering the first that opened all.  

                                                                                    (1980s)